Tag: BOOK REVIEWS

Voyages in literature

I always tend to have at least a couple of books on the go, and I choose them depending on my mood. So I must have been in the mood for a saga (in the modern sense of the word) since I plunged simultaneously into two doorstoppers: Americanah, by the Nigerian writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny, by the Indian writer Kiran Desai (both were written in English.) As I read on, I realised they shared a lot of similarities.

First of all, may I say both of these women are wonderful writers, whose clarity of prose and turn of phrase I much admire. It was very pleasurable immersing myself in their world.

Both books are meant to be, primarily, love stories. From an interview with Kiran Desai:

I wanted to write a story about love and loneliness in the modern world. I wanted to write a present-day romance with an old-fashioned beauty. In the past of my parents, and certainly my grandparents, an Indian love story would mostly be rooted in one community, one class, one religion, and often also one place. But a love story in today’s globalised world would likely wander in so many different directions.

However, the book is about so much more than that—it is about displacement, about identity, about moving to another country and then feeling you don’t belong in either your new home or your old one. It is about race and class distinctions.

Americanah deals with a lot of the same themes, although set in a primarily different background. Again based on a love story at its core, again exploring themes of displacement, race, identity and adapting to a different culture.

Both books are stories of love and expectations in today’s globalised world.

Which book did I prefer? Probably the first, for the simple reason that Ifemelu, the heroine of Americanah, is not a very likeable character. Although bright and self-assured, she often tends to shoot herself in the foot, especially as regards relationships. She can be unpleasant, disdainful and very sure her opinions are the right ones. I did enjoy the descriptions of life in Nigeria, though, a country I know little about.

This brings me to my main criticism of both books: although I understand how both writers became engrossed in the world they created (and I know that Desai worked on her book for years), I thought both books were ultimately too long and could have done with more judicious editing. I know it’s difficult to kill one’s darlings—but there was just too much detail and repetition of the minutiae of daily life, the backstory or subplots, the characters’ thoughts.

I asked myself—did I think this because our attention span has shrunk? I remember devouring long books like A Suitable Boy, by Vikram Seth. Dickens, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Robertson Davies…I read Middlemarch twice. Would I have the patience now? I wonder. If I want to re-read something long nowadays, I usually get the audiobook.

What do you think? Has anyone read one or both of these books? Did you like them? Are they too long? I would be interested to know. Awaiting comments!

Enjoyable reads

While tidying up my bookcase, I came upon some book recommendations which make for pleasant reading. A comfortable sofa, a mug of tea or chocolate, a good book and the rain falling outside…Or perhaps, depending on your location, a lounger on a beach and a large straw hat to shade your page…

For cooling off on the aforementioned beach, what better than a tale set in the frozen wastes of Antarctica?

Terra Nova, by Henriette Lazarides, is the haunting story of two explorers seeking to reach the South Pole and the woman who loves them both. Set in 1910, it is a tale of love and betrayal. The two men are friends who have set themselves an impossible task of endurance and privation. Back in London, Viola, wife of one and lover of the other, is a photo journalist and suffragette. In both settings, secrets multiply and grow toxic. I have been interested by polar exploration since reading the marvelous The Worst Journey in the World, and this fictional tale hits all the right keys.

A crumbling English manor house by the sea and the three children who grow up there. A dead whale washes up on the beach. A family saga par excellence, it decribes what unfolds in the wings as the children grow, and while the war increasingly gets centre stage. Engrossing.

I was initially put off by the subject matter of this book, which tells the tale of nine working class boys from the American West, and their quest to win the gold medal for rowing in Hitler’s 1936 Berlin Olympics. I thought a whole book about rowing would bore me, but a friend was so insistent that I caved. All I can say is that it kept my interest to the very end—the story is so well told, the characters all have depth and empathy, the technical descriptions are, dare I say it, poetic, the races full of suspense and the whole is set within the larger stage of the Depression, the looming war, and the rising of Hitler’s power in Europe. A story of grit and courage against terrible odds—and which is soon to be a film produced by George Clooney. The trailer looked interesting and—as an added bonus when reading the book—on YouTube one can find the original, black-and-white, films of the race (mostly by the notorious Leni Riefenstahl).

Another family saga, alternating between India and England in 1911 —and the same places in the present day. It is the story of Anahita Chavan, from a noble but impoverished family, and her lifelong friendship with the headstrong Princess Indira, the privileged daughter of Indian royalty. The relationships between them and with the men they love have repercussions down the years; culminating in a love story between Anahita’s grandson and a young American film star on a film set in England.

Set in the eccentric backwater of Karakarook (pop. 1,374), New South Wales, this is the story of Douglas Cheeseman, a shy and clumsy engineer with jug-ears who meets Harley Savage, a woman who is known for being rather large and abrupt. A cheerful and humorous tale.

Last but not least, non-fiction. A study of 18th century women artists, this book examines the careers and working lives of celebrated artists like Angelica Kauffman and Elisabeth Vigée Le Brun but also of those who are now forgotten. As well as assessing the work itself – from history and genre painting to portraits – it considers artists’ studios, the functioning of the print market, how art was sold, the role of patrons and the flourishing world of the lady amateur.

I found this book fascinating. The details of these women’s lives are beautifully described, and the constraints imposed upon them would seem intolerable to women artists now. The book also has beautiful reproductions of many paintings—however, it is out of print and can only be read as an e-book (of top quality, I must say), unless it can be found in a second-hand shop.

(All photos from Amazon)

My best books of 2025

As the year draws to a close, I though I’d make a short list of the best books I read this year—the books I personally liked best, because obviously opinions differ. I was inspired by Jacqui Wine’s Journal—I’ve followed her for years, because our tastes coincide, and I’ve had many wonderful recommendations from her over time. If you haven’t come across her Blog, I urge you to take a look, especially if you are a fan of solid storytelling and excellent writing. She also often revisits old favourites, as well as books in translation. 

Since I do like variety in my reading, my list is quite eclectic. Here are the ten I savoured most, not in any particular order. 

Wild Thing, by Suzanne Prideau, a truly exceptional life of Paul Gaugin, which I reviewed a little while ago Here

Days at the Morisaki Bookshop and More Days At the Morisaki Bookshop, to coincide with my trip to Japan. Life in Tokyo through the eyes of a young woman. Amusing and different (and a cool cover!). Buy it: Here

Human Matter, by Rodrigo Rey Rosa, a well-known Guatemalan writer. A semi-autobiographical dive into the realities of a dictatorial regime, seen through its bureaucracy. Engrossing if harrowing. Here

The Forbidden Notebook, by Alba de Cespedes. One of Jacquie’s suggestions, about the  daily life of an Italian housewife in the 50s. Fascinating. Here

Stone Yard Devotional, by Charlotte Moore. One of the Booker Prize shortlist for 2024. Very original and atmospheric. I got caught up in a very absorbing story. Here

The Game of Hearts, by Felicity Day. Part of my research into the Regency era. The stories of real women of that time—often, truth is stranger than fiction. Or more amusing. Here

Longbourn, by Jo Baker. Pride and Prejudice from behind the mirror: the daily life of the Bennet household as seen through the eyes of their servants. Here

Horse, a novel, by Geraldine Brooks. A great story told over two time lines, based on the real champion thoroughbred Lexington. With added enjoyment for people who love horses. Here

The Safekeep, by Yale Van Der Wooten. Another book shortlisted for the Booker Prize, this is an original story of the developing relationship between two very different women staying in the same house in the Dutch countryside during the summer of 1961. It is well plotted and in turns mysterious and unnerving. Here

The Golden Child. I love Penelope Fitzgerald and this was one that, most surprisingly, I had not read. Like an immersion in a warm bubble bath. Did not disappoint. Here

Add to those a couple of thrillers, some Regencies (good and not so good), and a handful of crime novels (I especially enjoy those of Vaseem Khan, set in India with a most interesting policewoman heroine.) I’ve also been reading books by people whose blogs I’ve been following for years and who have been most supportive of my own book. They’ve been on my TBR list for a while, but—so many books, so little time, as I keep repeating.

Well, I do hope some of the above will appeal to you. Happy reading! (Or perhaps you’ve e read them all?)

In praise of Penelope Fitzgerald

My days, darkened by the quasi-permanent absence of sunlight, were unexpectedly lit up by the discovery I had somehow missed reading a couple of Penelope Fitzgerald’s books, although she has long been one of my favourite writers.

Penelope Fitzgerald died in 2000 aged 83. In 2008 The Times listed her among “the 50 greatest British writers since 1945”. The Observer in 2012 placed her final novel, The Blue Flower, among “the ten best historical novels”, and A.S. Byatt called her, “Jane Austen’s nearest heir for precision and invention.”

Fitzgerald’s books are short, but within a few pages her prodigious powers of imagination create whole worlds. In The Beginning of Spring, she manages to describe the minutiae of life in pre-Revolutionary Russia as if she had been born there. But the research is worn so lightly it is imperceptible.

The Blue Flower, about the poet Novallis, has always been one of my favourite books. Based on the life of Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772–1801) it describes the time when, aged 22, before he became famous under the name Novallis, he became mystically attracted to the 12-year-old Sophie Von Kühn, an unlikely choice for an intellectual of noble birth given Sophie’s age and lack of education and culture, as well as her physical plainness and negligible material prospects. The couple became engaged a year later but never married as Sophie died of consumption a few days after her 15th birthday. The book is sad, subtle and romantic.

One of the books I had not read yet is The Golden Child, which is actually a murder mystery (she did not include it in her novels) with such a biting sense of humour that I found myself laughing out loud. The book is set in a museum, where “Even in total silence one could sense the ferocious efforts of the highly cultured staff trying to ascend the narrow ladder of promotion.” A perfect phrase if there ever was one. Or the description of the characters, even their names: “Hawthorne-Mannering, the Keeper of Funerary Art, was an exceedingly thin, well-dressed, disquieting person, pale, with movements full of graceful suffering, like the mermaid who was doomed to walk upon knives. Born related, or nearly related, to all the great families of England (who wondered why, if he was so keen on art, he didn’t take up a sensible job at Sotheby’s), and seconded to the Museum from the Courtauld, he was deeply pained by almost everything he saw about him.”

Her third novel, Offshore, won the Booker Prize in 1979. Based on her own years of living on an old sailing barge moored at Battersea Reach, it is about the mixed emotions of houseboat dwellers who live between the water and the land, fully belonging to neither.

Although she launched her literary career late, at the age of 58, Fitzgerald wrote nine novels, plus several biographies, short stories and articles. She had a hard life because due to her husband’s alcoholism she faced poverty, living for years in a houseboat which sank twice, and in public housing. She taught until the age of 70. Would she have been as good if she’d had an easy life? I think probably yes, because she was born in a scholarly family: she was the daughter of Edmund Knox, later editor of Punch, and Christina, daughter of Edward Hicks, Bishop of Lincoln and one of the first female students at Oxford. She was a niece of the theologian and crime writer Ronald Kox, the cryptographer Dillwyn Knox, the Bible scholarWilfred Knox, and the novelist and biographer Winifred Peck. She obviously also had great inherent talent.

She remains a unique, luminous voice in the literary firmament. I highly recommend her to anyone wanting to immerse themselves in her world.